


Better To Have Loved and Lost

by zelda_zee



Category: Lost
Genre: One-Sided Attraction, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 18:52:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2079282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zelda_zee/pseuds/zelda_zee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She had always had unfortunate taste in males, and her latest crush was no exception.</i>
</p><p>Originally posted for Lost Riffs on 1/31/2007.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better To Have Loved and Lost

Suddenly it seemed like there were people everywhere. They took up space on her beach with their strange contraptions and cobbled-together shelters. They were always barging into the jungle, talking too loudly, stomping around without seeming to know what they were doing, running in every direction, willy-nilly. A foolish group, dangerous because they were stupid.

Not like the quiet woman with the bow and arrow. She lived in accordance with the jungle’s rules. Leave her alone, and she’d leave you alone. At least most of the time.

And not like the strange ones either, the ones who emerged stealthily from the ground. She never knew where they came from or what their purpose was, though it was clear that they had one. They came, they took or killed, and then vanished. They obeyed no rules but their own. They weren’t interested in her, but still, when they were near she hid.

The beach people were like lunatics, no order, no purpose. They fought and yelled and made their lives and the lives of every creature in their vicinity miserable. _They_ were miserable. They didn’t seem to like her island very much.

So she found it ironic – (What? You think she didn’t know about irony? Au contraire. Yes, she knew French too) - that she couldn’t seem to ignore the loudest, stupidest, most obnoxious of all the beach people. He (of course, he was a _he_ ) was always yelling and swearing and making all the other beach people very angry or afraid or, occasionally, sad. He trudged carelessly through the jungle, no respect, big booted feet making more noise than any human she’d ever heard. He seemed to think he was adapting well. He even seemed to believe he was doing better than the rest of them. But if there was ever anyone who was totally unsuited to life in the wild, she thought, it was him.

His name was Sawyer. She’d heard the others call him that, usually in tones of derision or irritation or fury. But names meant nothing to her. To her he was simply… “he”.

He smelled good, that was the first thing she’d noticed about him. Humans _all_ smelled, and usually not in a good way. But he was different. He smelled like the best thing she could imagine. He smelled like rut, and she wasn’t even in heat. Not even close, with a litter of babies just a few months old.

In the night his smell drew her down to the beach, to the place where he slept. She entered, trying to be quiet, but she couldn’t really help the contented little snuffling sounds that escaped her in her excitement at being so close to him.

He was twitching and fidgeting. Dreams. She had those too. His were bad ones. She wanted to move closer. Maybe if he had a warm body to curl up beside he wouldn’t be so frightened.

She watched him out of the corner of her eye, trying to understand what had possessed her to come here at no insignificant risk to her life, and therefore to the lives of her litter as well. She just couldn’t stay away, even if he _was_ hairless and bipedal and tuskless, not to mention rude and noisy and, well, not the sharpest piglet in the litter.

She had always had terrible taste in males. Her mother had told her that after her first mating, and it had held true ever since. This was only her latest, and most disconcertingly extreme, lapse of judgement.

He woke with a sudden yell, startling her. Really, why was this man such a noisy creature? He fumbled around in the dark for a while. She sighed as she watched him. Blind and clumsy as well. She must be insane.

And then he found what he was looking for and she was blinded by bright light, and she suddenly realized that she was in danger. He was going to wake up the whole camp with his shouting, and she really didn’t want that, especially if it roused the scary one with the big knives.

She panicked a bit, she could admit that. It was not a graceful exit, with the squealing and the blundering and the dragging of the tarp behind her. An accident, of course. If she wanted a keepsake, she would have taken a more personal item. The blanket would have been perfect.

In hindsight, she wished she had behaved with more dignity. She doubted she had made a good impression, though she was delighted that he did at least give chase. She had to give credit, for a bipedal he ran very well.

And he sought her the next day. She was encouraged by this. He sought her, and yet, poor, hopeless creature, he did not find her. He really was as helpless as a tiny, newborn piglet. It was a measure of how far gone she was that she found this trait adorable. He tromped around in circles, cursing and muttering in his squeaky human voice. She watched him fondly from behind a bush, waiting for him to find her. She closed her eyes, sniffing the air. It was a hot, humid day and the more he tromped and cursed the better he smelled. He would smell even more alluring, she thought, if he were muddy. She felt her piggy knees go weak at the thought of the pungent earthy scent of mud over his musky smell of rut.

 _Human_ rut, a tiny voice in the back of her mind whispered in disgust. She stubbornly ignored it. It’s not like she wanted… with him… no. That would be _wrongwrongwrong_ and though she had perhaps not led the most conservative existence as far as boar mores went, she had no intention of ever crossing _that_ particular boundary. No, she just wanted to be near him. Because… because of his smell. And his voice, squeaky as it was. And he was pretty, she thought, if humans could ever be considered so. She always fell for the pretty ones, that was her weakness.

It was surprisingly simple to make him muddy, just by giving him a slight, gentle bump as she ran by. He fell easily, rolling around in the mud rather like a wallowing boar, only with less coordination.

When he returned there was a female with him, following. He didn’t seem to know the woman was there. Again she felt a pang of sympathy at his helplessness. How could he hope to survive, so deficient in even the most basic of instincts? She followed, watching over him. If the female attacked, she would deal with her. If not, she would wait for the interloper to leave, so she could be alone with him again, especially now, with his new muskymuddy smell. Ahhh, heaven.

She followed until they stopped for the night. Watched while they built a fire. While they slept she had a little look-see at his pack. It was possible she got a bit overexcited, a bit sloppy and, well… territorial. It was that female’s fault. The way the woman looked at him, the way her scent changed around him. It made her a tiny bit possessive, which was silly, she knew. After all, he was _human_ , he couldn’t be hers.

But there it was. She couldn’t help her feelings. The man made her do crazy things. And if she ate all his food simply because it was his, and if she got a bit carried away and urinated all over his pack and everything else that belonged to him, well, it was out of affection. She could only hope that he would understand.

But he didn’t seem to understand at all. In fact, he seemed to be very angry. There was more stomping and cursing and yelling. He was very emotional for a male. She usually preferred the stoic type, but this one… she had never known a male with such wild, unpredictable moods.

She retreated when the cruel one joined them, put some distance between herself and the humans. It wasn’t until later in the day that she realized that somehow they had found her. She heard their voices close by, _him_ and that female, too close to her babies. And when he grabbed one of them, and shook him she didn’t understand, but she was afraid. Stupid man. He was clearly mentally deficient. If he wasn’t careful he’d hurt her baby, and she knew that he’d be sorry once he returned to his senses. She had to make him see, help him calm down.

But to her relief, he released the piglet when the female scolded him. The woman obviously had some sense, despite being so small and ugly. She wondered if this woman was clever enough to take care of him. He was in desperate need of someone to look after him -- that much was obvious -- and it could not be her. She had a litter to raise, for one thing. And then there was that _other_ little problem. No, much as she wished it, she could not be his mate. He would have to settle for the ugly woman.

But she wanted to say good-bye. For him to see her, just once, to look in her eyes and know that she loved him. It was not too much to ask. She could let herself have that much.

So she stepped forward, out of hiding and stood waiting for him to notice her. When he did, he pointed his gun at her. She knew about guns, had seen what they could do. She could see it in his eyes, he meant to kill her. She wondered at her calm. She should be running, and yet she held her ground. She did not think it would hurt, to be killed by one you love.

She put everything into her eyes, tried to make him see. He just glowered at her, holding that gun pointed right at her head. And then something changed. He _saw_ her. She felt it, and she could tell he did too, a connection, something strong and visceral flowing between them for just a moment. He lowered the gun, still watching her. His eyes looked different. The anger and panic were gone. He looked sad she thought, and she wished that she could comfort him. But no, she had been given what she wanted, he had seen down into her soul, had _known_ her for that one brief instant. That was enough.

She turned back into the tall grass, pausing to watch him leave once she was out of sight. The female led the way. She would lead him back to the beach, where he would be safe.

She turned and trotted away, to gather her litter and forage for food and try, somehow, to get on with her life. She was getting too old for these wild infatuations. It was time to settle down and focus on what was real. No more sweet-smelling bipedals, she vowed, even as she wondered if she would ever really be able to forget.


End file.
